


Lucky

by nanda (nandamai)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Did I Mention the Sap, Diplomacy, Established Relationship, F/M, Oh So Sappy, Party, Romance, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-15
Updated: 1999-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandamai/pseuds/nanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best laid plans of mice and Janeways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> Written by my evil sappy twin, nanette.

I find that I am very eager for this reception to be over.

It’s not that it’s boring, particularly. The Tsinari ambassador is delightful, and they have been very kind to us, and we were damn lucky to find them. We’d have had a disaster on our hands if we hadn’t found deuterium, and safe harbor, very soon. The ship had been damaged by an ion storm immediately after a skirmish with a race called the Zuha. We desperately needed supplies, and raw materials, and a planet where we could safely make repairs. The first two we approached turned us down; the third pointed us to Tsinar, a few light years away. We wouldn’t have been able to make it much further than that.

So, we’ve been lucky. Again. And I’m thankful.

But I haven’t had a decent, crisis-free night of sleep in weeks, and, well, the ceremonial beverage the ambassador brought along is definitely not synthehol, and Chakotay’s smile is—Chakotay’s smile.

I’m an adult. I’m a professional. I’m in love, but I’m not an exhibitionist, and we’re both very private people. I can manage not to glow when I’m around him, I can keep my eyes off him when we’re in the same room. It’s not that difficult.

So I play the perfect host. I smile at the ambassador and her husband, I sample the delicacies they brought along, including the one that has the consistency of dried mud, I ask eager questions about the Tsinar homeworld, their culture, their language and history.

But I always know where he is. That man, it’s like radar, I swear. Or something else.

Not that I’m complaining.

It’s kind of nice, actually.

In fact it’s damn sexy.

But that’s just the problem. Too sexy. Much more than any XO has a right to be. Dammit. And we haven’t had more than two minutes in a row alone since … hell, I can’t even remember the last time.

Well. He was in my ready room today, and we were alone, technically speaking, but that’s not quite what I have in mind.

Very eager indeed, for this reception to be over.

He’s by the viewport right now, entertaining two of the Ambassador’s aides. One of them, a woman named Charak, had her hand on his arm the last time I saw them, and her head tossed back in the Tsinari version of laughter—a deep, kind of clucking sound. And Chakotay was wearing that smile. No, not _that_ one, the private one that turns me weak at the knees and that he has known, since his first day on my ship, turns me weak at the knees. This was the other one, the one he uses to charm the crew, charm his friends and occasionally his enemies, charm inanimate objects, even to charm me sometimes. And Charak may have been feeling a little weak at the knees.

He’s such a flirt. That is to my benefit, in more ways than one.

“Would you like some more pahl, Captain?” Ambassador Vak’s husband asks me. His name is Korva, and he is very well versed in the duties of a diplomatic spouse. He reminds me of some of the admirals’ wives I’ve known, though not of my own mother, who would probably have told a starship captain to go get her own drink.

I don’t want more, but it’s best to be polite. “Maybe one more glass, thanks.”

Ambassador Vak, who is at least two feet taller than me, lifts her head in what I’ve come to recognize as a gesture of uncertainty. “Do you not like our pahl, Captain?” she asks. She says it like I might say, What do you mean, you don’t like coffee?

“I like it very much, Ambassador. But we don’t often have real alcohol on board. Our synthehol has a much different effect.” That’s for sure. I’m not drunk by any means, but I feel as if every one of my nerve endings is on red alert. If this is what happens to me after two glasses, I don’t think I want to find out what happens after five or six.

Korva returns, offering me a glass of the blue liquid. I redirect the conversation as gracefully as I can back to Tsinar. Ambassador Vak is more than happy to explain the meanings behind the various ornaments they wear, and the clan-based structure of their society, and the various ecosystems we can enjoy while we’re in orbit. Mountains sound nice to me. Tall, lonely mountains, with cool streams, and trees, and …

But Vak is telling me now about how pleasant it has been to work with us, and she’s singing Neelix’s praises. I unconsciously search the room for my morale officer, but he’s nowhere to be found. In the kitchen, perhaps.

Instead my eyes are drawn to Chakotay. He and the ambassador’s aides have moved to the buffet table, where they are forcing another piece of the dried mud appetizer on him. He, like me, is playing the perfect host.

He looks up to find me watching him. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes do. I doubt anyone else in the room can see it, but I can. I feel it in the pit of my stomach.

He raises his glass to me. The liquid is pink, like strawberry juice, or rosewater. I raise my glass in return.

Oh yes.

Very eager indeed.

***

hen I return to my quarters later, after escorting Vak and her entourage to the transporter room, Chakotay is already there. For that, I am thankful. I am thankful for many things, but right now, this seems the most important.

“Hi,” he says, looking up from where he is sitting on the floor, padd in hand. He’s changed into a cotton shirt and drawstring pants and has already lost his shoes.

“Hi.” I remove my pips, one by one. I hate this dress uniform. “I thought you might have gone home with one of those Tsinari beauties.” I toss the dress jacket over the chair at my desk, and bend down to peel off my boots. I am appalled at how strenuous the simple motion seems.

“On the first date? Never.”

“Smart man.”

“Just the way you like ‘em.”

He is still on the floor, his back against the couch, his legs crossed in front of him. I’m down to my Starfleet-issue t-shirt and pants, and god, it feels good. I stretch my arms above my head.

“And how would you know how I like ‘em, Commander?” I say through a yawn.

He flashes me his best weak-in-the-knees smile. “Just a lucky guess. Come here.”

I take his hand, letting him guide me down to his lap. How, I wonder as I have nearly every day for the last six months, did I ever manage to convince myself that this would be a bad thing?

I let my body mold itself to his, his warmth flowing through me, my head on his shoulder, his hands rubbing my back. Perfect. I could stay like this all night, except … except …

Oh. I had other plans.

I kiss his neck, in the curve of his shoulder—but it’s not quite the kiss I had intended it to be. I end up laughing, and he joins in without knowing what the joke is.

“Just how much of that pahl did you drink, Kath?”

“Two and a half glasses. Just enough to be polite.”

I know he’s grinning. “You’re drunk,” he says in my ear.

“I’m not. I’m what my mother used to call tipsy. It’s not so bad, actually. It’s kind of nice.”

“What? Did I just hear you say that a slight loss of control was ‘nice’?”

“You repeat that and I’ll bust you down to crewman.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He twines our fingers together and holds both of our hands against his chest. The rhythm of his breathing lulls me towards sleep.

“This is not what was supposed to happen,” I say.

“No, we were supposed to be on a beach on Fiji.”

“That would be nice. But what I meant was that all night I’ve been planning what I wanted to do to you once I got you alone—”

“I fail to see how this is bad.”

“—and now I think I’m too sleepy to do any of it.”

His laugh warms us both. “You, Kathryn Janeway,” he says, “are a lightweight.”

“Huh.” I could point out that we are both suffering from severe sleep deprivation, or that I haven’t had time to eat anything except dried mud since breakfast. But the former is a fact that does not need repeating, and the latter will only send him scurrying to the replicator.

I may be exhausted, but I’m not an idiot.

He turns me so my back is against his chest, and I find myself on the floor, between his legs. “Just how tired are you?”

“Depends on what you have in mind.”

“There are many ways to make love, Kath.”

I’m not about to argue with that, especially when his hand slips inside my shirt to cover one breast. I think I hear him whisper a command to relax. His other hand ducks down into my dress uniform pants, into my panties, and when he touches me with one finger it feels like rain on a rose petal.

I hear myself sigh as I melt into him.

He moves slowly but I come quickly, and quietly. “I love you,” he whispers. I shudder against him.

We sit in silence, after. His hands are still inside my clothes—one on my stomach, one counting my ribs. That’s how he sleeps, too, with one hand flat across my belly, inside my nightgown. It’s very sweet.

“You still awake?” he asks finally.

“Barely. Help me up?”

He does, and guides me to the bath so I can brush my teeth and wash my face. I manage to stay awake just long enough to feel him slide in next to me and pull me close—one hand on my belly, under my nightgown.

I am so damn lucky. 


End file.
